


Sink, Drown, Resurface

by mlmbuttercup



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Geraskier, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Loneliness, M/M, Mentions of Self Destructive Habits, Missing One Another, No Beta, Roach is So Done (The Witcher), Roach is the Best (The Witcher), emotionally hurt, idk what else to tag, post ep 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlmbuttercup/pseuds/mlmbuttercup
Summary: The bard sinks, the wolf drowns, they resurface
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 20





	1. Sink

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is heavily inspired by post ep 6 depression and the song “Dancing on my own” by Calum Scott, whose lyrics are also used here. It’s beautiful I can only recommend to give it a listen. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! ~

Cold and ignored leaned the lute against the wattle and daub. It’s strings unplucked for weeks and probably out of tune. The owner gifted his attention to the brittle and yellowed parchment in front of him instead. His wrist flicked elegantly as he moved his hand to dip the tip of the quill into the black ink in order to drag it across the parchment, letting the ink flow into words.

_» Somebody said you got a new friend_

_Does she love you better than I can_

_There's a big black sky over my town_

_I know where you're at, I bet she's around «_

His hand moved back to the pot of ink, repeating the elegant hand gesture each time he refreshed the ink in his quill. The beautiful feather catched his eye, tightening his heavy chest further. This quill went under a rare craftsmanship. Quills are usually stripped of all afterfeathers and most of it’s barbs for practical reasons. This one went under a different procedure, giving it the possibly highest quality and unique look you can get these days on the market. The high quality tip promised smooth writing and a long life, the barrel was encased by a copper handle, giving it an unique recognizable design, the feather was fluffy, long, white and beautiful, flowing over the hand away from sight. The bard had gotten this particular quill because it reminded him of his wolf, who was just as unique. He had used this quill to write most of his ballads that included the white wolf, in ecstasy and with a huge smile on his face. 

Now he sat there, full of regrets, the smile he usually wore while writing his heart down into lyrics replaced by a deep frown. His cold hands hurt, his eyes stung, his breath was ragged. He needed to gasp for air, one big inhale, but he feared he’d drown if he even thought about it. His wolf’s gruff and loud voice echoed continuously through his mind without a break, though it’s been weeks since the dragon incident. _“If life could give me one blessing, It would be to take you off my hands.”_ The pain that was born deep in his soul lost itself in his heart to be found again in words on paper.

_» And yeah, I know it's stupid_

_But I just gotta see it for myself_

_I'm in the corner, watching you kiss her, oh oh oh_

_I'm right over here, why can't you see me, oh oh oh_

_And I'm giving it my all, but I'm not the guy you're taking home, ooh_

_I keep dancing on my own «_

Jaskier had been okay with the fact that Geralt does not love him the way he loved him. The poet had always believed that the white wolf needed him just as much as he needed Geralt. Even if it wasn’t in the same way. That morning was haunting him, became his biggest nightmare. The morning he learned that his best friend in fact never needed him, never loved him, not even a little. The very first and only time he had fully given his heart to someone besides his music, in hope it would be safe. He gave his best years to the wolf and now he was sitting here in a room of an inn, old and all by himself.He had many regrets but following Geralt for as long as he did wasn’t one of them. The wolf showed him the world, teached him what true love was, like no one else could have done.

_» I just wanna dance all night_

_And I'm all messed up, I'm so out of line, yeah_

_Stilettos and broken bottles_

_I'm spinning around in circles_

_And I'm in the corner, watching you kiss her, oh_

_I'm right over here, why can't you see me, oh_

_And I'm giving it my all, but I'm not the guy you're taking home, ooh_

_I keep dancing on my own_

_And oh no «_

Suddenly he realized his vision went blurry, his headache intensified, he blinked the tears away, causing a fat drop to land on the fresh ink on the parchment. Quietly, he watched the ink and salty water combine, run down and smear the words below. He refused to stop, to rest his quill, mind and body. This was the first time in weeks that he was able to come up with words. The first time in weeks he heard a new melody in his head to bring to paper and later into the hearts of his listeners. The first time in weeks after his muse had left him. So, Jaskier sat there, sinking in his feelings while trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart.

_»So far away but still so near_

_The lights come up, the music dies_

_But you don't see me standing here «_

Geralt never saw him.


	2. Drown

Witchers are emotionless, they can’t sink nor drown. That was what Geralt had been taught from a young age. Strong, emotionless, a monster who kills monsters. Something he always had to be to survive in this cruel world. That didn’t mean he didn’t sink. In fact he had never been above the surface, he was in a constant state of drowning in grief, regret, hatred. Whenever he found himself alone, with no soul around, everything spilled and he was able to let it all out. Every single negative feeling blooming in his chest finally left his body in hot tears. A rare occasion no one shall ever witness, not even Roach. The white wolf never sinks.

With a low grunt and scrunched up nose threw the witcher the decapitated body of the kikimora across Roach’s saddle. The monster was plaguing a poor fishermen village. The second he had sat foot into the only inn of the village, multiple people offered coin for the foe to be removed to prevent any more unwary men and children to be eaten. A merchant offered extra if the wolf would bring him the body. Geralt accepted their coin, downed an ale, paid in advance for a room, bath and Roach to be taken care of in one of their warm stables, before he headed out again for the Kikimora. 

Now he was on his way back, gently petting Roach and whispering praises to her. For the past few months they haven’t stayed in one place for longer than a few hours, he knew she was tired and he felt bad but he just couldn’t stop. Geralt didn’t even know why, what he was galloping away from. He was doing just fine and without anyone after him, he truly couldn’t explain it to himself nor his travel companion. “Sorry Roach, tonight you’ll have a warm stable and food all for yourself.” He mumbled apologetic as he run his fingers through her mane, detangling it a bit. Roach snorted, happy to finally rest for a full night. The sound of the happy beautiful mare tugged at Geralt’s lips, a small smile appearing just for her. She wasn’t mad at him. She never was. There was a sudden tug at his heart, a deep implacable feeling spread through his chest and the wolf’s smile disappeared. This was the feeling he was running away from and the fact that he didn’t know what it was, because he had never felt this before, irritated him. Yet he was aware it was unfair to his mare to make her carry him non stop. It wasn’t her fault he was feeling like this he was sure of that. Pushing said feelings down like always, he urged Roach on to get back to the inn fast.

Later that day he sat alone at a table, downing one ale after another, his brooding eyes keeping unwanted company away. The kikimora body was delivered to the merchant in exchange for the promised extra coin, Roach brought to the stables to be brushed and petted. He praised her some more before he left with a good night kiss to her nose, to which she responded with a little headbutt to his chest. Instead of laying on a bedroll in the silence of the cold forest and Roach’s calm breathing sat the Witcher in a loud big room, full of laughter, singing and lute strums. It was a nice change for once, the nights in the forests weren’t something he wasn’t used to, but the mortal side of his craved lots ale that warmed him up from the inside and a warm soft bed once in a while. The ale didn’t only creep the cold forest nights out of his bones but it also made him forget. The wolf forgot about the feeling he was running away from all this time. It made it easier to them push down. A sudden thud in front of him scared him and he bared his teeth as he let out a little growl. The alcohol intensifying noises ten folds. His yellow orbs met widened blue ones. He didn’t notice the waitress approaching him with a pitcher of ale and he internally scolded himself for that. It wasn’t the alcohol but that stupidrecurring feeling that left him the opposite of his usual concentrated and collected self. A quiet sorry was mumbled and the woman calmed down a bit though the wolf still could smell the fear in her. “You’re the famous white wolf, right?” She asked as she collected the empty jugs from his table, to which he only answered with a small hum as he poured himself another jug of ale. She pushed a strand of blind her out of her face and gave him a big smile. “I knew it the moment I saw you! We’ve heard many stories of you. Most of them from songs of your bard.” suddenly the waitress looked startled, cutoff, only when he looked at her face did he realize it must have been a noise that left his throat involuntarily. The words “your bard” caused the same tug at his heart he had felt for the past few months. No way that feeling had something to do with the poet. “I was wondering why you were alone, without him but judging by your face I rather not ask any further. The ale is on the house, for the kikimora.” she spoke after she had collected herself again and left him. Alone. Alone? He never had been feeling lonely. Not when his mom left him. Not when he was in training at Kaer Morhen. Not one single day. It was true what they say, you can’t miss what you didn’t have. It was as if Geralt couldn’t feel loneliness. The more off throwing it was when he felt this huge gap in his chest, continuously growing and filling with more and more pain as he finally picked up on the musicians words.

_» And yeah, I know it's stupid_

_But I just gotta see it for myself_

_I'm in the corner, watching you kiss her, oh oh oh_

_I'm right over here, why can't you see me, oh oh oh_

_And I'm giving it my all, but I'm not the guy you're taking home, ooh_

_I keep dancing on my own «_

He recognized the words as his bard’s. Well, he didn’t hear that song before it must be a new one but he’d recognize the way it was written anywhere. Wait, his bard? Jaskier was never his and he would never be. Not after the hurtful things he had said to him on that goddamn mountain. Now he sat there in that inn, months after the dragon incident, hearing those words being sung by this stranger. It felt wrong hearing these lyrics fall from those foreign lips, hearing those words being carried around the room by that foreign voice. It made his skin crawl. His brows furrowed in complete irritation as reality crashed down on to him. He was traveling around on Roach, rarely resting in inns and always on the move. His life started to only consist of killing monsters and coin. Nothing more or less. Like it used to be before a young man, full of life, joy and bread in his pants approached him to ask him what he was thinking of his songs. The wolf fled back into his old habits, no more baths, chamomile, ranting, singing, blue shiny eyes looking at him as if he were the best thing to ever exist. He fled from his own dawning feelings, deep down he knew how he felt but his mind refused. A Witcher couldn’t feel and yet there he was.

_»So far away but still so near_

_The lights come up, the music dies_

_But you don't see me standing here «_

The wolf was drowning in sorrow, regrets and his old self harming habits. But most importantly he was drowning in his sudden loneliness. He felt so lonely and he was feeling like that because his bard wasn’t beside him.


End file.
